


asnine

by curvynico



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Betrayal, Bottom Dean, Crying, Daddy Kink, Decaying, Demon possession, I really dislike lisa, Mild Blood, Multi, Pedophilia, Vomit, and Ellen, dead bodies, deans fucked up, except for Jody. jody is ok, i don't know why but I hate almost every female character in this show, its fucked up, jo is a bitch though sorry broz, mind playing, past relationship, shes a bitch imo, some old guy fucks dean and cas starts crying about it, this is fucked up, trespassing into property, uhh idk where Sam is bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curvynico/pseuds/curvynico
Summary: Again, he had brought a deceased body home.It was of a man, maybe forty. Unfamiliar grey eyes stared up at the ceiling, unmoving, still; dead. It was still disturbing. I was still disturbed. I hadn't gotten used to his logically unacceptable ways.I don't think I ever will.





	asnine

**Author's Note:**

> hey. this is seriously fucked up. have fun reading lol.

Again, he had brought a deceased body home.

It was of a man, maybe forty. Unfamiliar grey eyes stared up at the ceiling, unmoving, still; dead. It was still disturbing. I was still disturbed. I hadn't gotten used to his logically unacceptable ways.

I don't think I ever will.

The now recognizable scent of blood and dead bodies never ceased to make my stomach upset. The room would immediately be polluted with the smell of flesh decaying, and I’d have to be the one who’d clear the air of the mephitic smell.

Deans, maybe it was Dean's, I did not know anymore, as it did not act anything like Dean, like the goofy, incredibly masculine and sarcastic _Dean_ , just looked like him, like the pretty, tall blonde I once knew so well, sharp, emerald eyes slowly rolled upwards, directed at me. I didn't move, but I did say, “who is this? Why have you brought another one home?”

It was not like I feared him -- Dean, or the creature I assumed that was inside of him. Maybe it was just another demon, one that was stupid enough to posses one of the Winchester boys, although I would admit, it knew what it was doing. Regardless of my attempts to exorcise him, which lacked any effect, I was still so, so sure that there was something evil living inside of him, but I wasn't sure enough. So, _so_ sure wasn't enough. The only thing I was able to do was keep him out of harm's way, so that when I release him of what was possessing him, he would not come back dead, nor severely harmed. What was keeping me from truly, truly truly believing that something was inside of Dean was that, _it_ , the _demon_ , hasn't used any of its powers, like levitating objects and executing others with only the flick of a wrist. I will never not be curious as to why it did not use its powers on me, nor any other human. Whenever it, Dean killed somebody, he would not kill them with….powers, he would not use any of the demonic powers. All he did was use knives and guns and chainsaws, only physical things, only human-made weapons.

Dean shifted, didn't say anything. His serious, stoic expression didn't change until a wide grin cracked through his face. It wasn't anything terrifying, like razor sharp teeth and exaggeratingly curled lips; just a true, Dean Winchester grin, the one that made my heart beat quicker than normal. But what I did not understand was how, _how_ did the thing that was inside of him do that? How did the thing possessing Dean, my Dean, grin so genuinely, like there wasn't anything inside of him? It's tricking me. The demon is trying to trick me into believing that nothing was wrong with my lover, but I will not fall for it's tricks. I knew what it was doing.

What I did not know is why it slammed Dean's hands down onto the marble table the body was lying on, why it did it so abruptly, so loudly. I flinched at the sound of skin slapping against marble, hard, hard, hard. The palms of his poor hands were probably raw and red, stinging. His grin, so wide, was still on his face, his eyes never leaving me. I furrowed my brows.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

Voice calm, steady, deep. I did not dare raise my voice at him, lest he execute me. But that is just a prediction, as in the back of my mind, I know he won't kill me. He….could, but he will not. I do not know why. It's like he has a soft spot for me. The _thing_ controlling Dean.

Said person retracted his hands and chuckled. “I was bored. You took sooo long to get back home from work, Cas!” Dean tilted his head, his grin faltering, as if the muscles he used to grin so widely are tired and strained. “You took so, so, so long, I had nothing, _nothing to do!_ ”

I winced, moved my eyes away from Dean. Staring at the gash on the bodies forehead, I rubbed my wrist. What was he going to do with it this time? The body? Was he going to decapitate it? Was he going to bury it in the neighbor's backyard? What was he going to do?

“What are you going to do with it, Dean?” It was weak, my voice. My chest hurt, my nostrils stung. Dean blinked, strangely innocent. He bit his bottom lip, as if he was deep in thought.

“Hm, didn't really think of that this time.” He then looked back at me, his grin suddenly reborn, stretching across his face beautifully. “Why don't you decide for me, Cas?”

I sink my teeth into my tongue. What should I say? I did not want to decide, I did not want to be involved in what Dean was going to do. I did not, did not did not did not. I opened my mouth to answer, maybe say something like, _‘I do not know, I don't know please don't ask me,’_ or a, _‘what you are doing is disturbing me and making me feel incredibly uncomfortable, do not make me decide on what you will do to this citizen that in, no way, deserved to be killed.’_

I clamp my mouth shut.

Dean shifts, coming closer to me. I don't move, I don't say anything. I don't look at him, my chest hurts and my nostrils sting and I am too scared to look at him, too scared to look into his eyes because he is most likely to have been possessed by a demon. I take in a deep breath and cough, I look at the table silently. In my peripheral vision, Dean is still grinning, his head slightly tilted curiously. He parts his lips and voices out the words, “what? What's wrong, Cas? You scared?” Dean laughs, says, “it's not that hard of a decision, you know. We could just bury him in the neighbor's backyard like I did a week ago.” _And the week before that, and the week before that week, and the week before both of those weeks, and so on?_

I want to vomit, I feel bile rising in my throat my chest hurts and my nostrils sting and Dean won't remove his eyes from my body. Finally, I say, hesitantly and quietly, “can we bury him in the cemetery?”

Deans grin suddenly wipes itself off his face. My heart skips a beat.

“No,” he says, voice level and sharp. I don't say anything. He stares at me irritably for a few more moments before moving to remove the dead man's clothing.

I stare at him while he does it. I don't know what to say, what do I say? What do I say?

Then Dean says, “Cassie, help me with the big boy!” Loud and bouncy, his voice, but I see no smile on his face, nothing at all, no, just a straight face, like a brick wall. My chest hurts and my nostrils sting, flare, and I know that I upset Dean, the thing that was inside him. I upset it, I upset it I know I did and it makes my palms sweat and my chest hurt even more, if possible. I move to obey.

As I am removing the last of the man's clothes, Dean swats my hand when I touch him accidentally, and despite it being light and playful, I flinch, hard.

Ignoring the flinch, he grins at me, again, and for some reason I feel relief. Incredible relief, the pain in my chest lessening and my nostrils relaxing. Dean then opens his mouth again, sound resonating from in between his plush lips, “help me get him into Baby, Cas!”

I nod, shakily grabbing the man's bare ankles, as Dean does with his bare arms. Slowly, slowly, we pick him up, gravity pulling at the man, the body positioned into a wide V. It swings, the body, as we walk over to the garage, and Dean giggles childishly, beginning to swing it from side to side, as if it was a toy for him to play with, but I don't say anything, even though my muscles are straining against keeping the man above the ground.

I struggle with opening the door to the garage, but after a few minutes, with Dean being oddly patient, it stands ajar, and I walk through it by pushing my back to the entrance, pulling the man with me. I look at Dean, and he grins. So I look away, and he says, “good job, Cassie! Good job!”

I wince, I feel like a dog being praised by its master. It’s not a nice feeling, no, it isn’t, not at all, but I don't say anything, no twitch of the lips or a nod; nothing. I don’t direct any of my actions and shuffles and movements at him, I _can’t_ direct any of my actions and shuffles and movements at him, as it is simply too risky, too much of letting my guard down. I can’t let my guard down around him anymore, not anymore. Never again, maybe, never again will I be able to hug him and kiss him and speak to him casually and live a normal, happy, long, long life with him, because the thing that is inside him will never leave. Never ever in a hundred thousand million years will it leave.

I shake my head. _No_ , I think, _no, do not think that way._

When I stop moving, I am behind the Impala, waiting for Dean to move. He lets go of the man's cold, graying arms abruptly, and I suppress a yelp of surprise before catching myself from falling with the man's body, my hands leaving his ankles. He drops to the floor with a dull thud, and I grimace. Dean laughs, opens the trunk. I wipe my hands anxiously.

“Put him into the trunk, Cas, pretty please,” Dean says, voice sweet, and I blink. Dean stares at me expectantly. I move my eyes, and I wonder, _how will I be able to carry this man into the trunk myself?_

It wasn’t like the man was extremely heavy, but he sure did have a less healthy physique, although not incredibly so. I wouldn’t be able to move him alone, but I bend over to start drag him to the car anyway, afraid to go against Dean's order. I grunt as I move the body across the floor and to the trunk, placing his legs in first, heaving. Dean is still grinning, not moving, and I sigh quietly, continuing to squeeze the body into the car.

My arms are slightly numb and my chest is starting to hurt again, but I ignore it as I inhale deeply, breathing out through my mouth. Dean pats my bicep, hard, and says, “good job, Cassie! Good job!” and I realize that disturbance is the thing that is making my chest feel like this. Dean shuts the trunk loudly, says, “get in, Cassie!”

I do what he says.

We pull out throught the driveway, and I wonder where we are going. I want to ask, but I cannot do that. I might upset him again, and I wouldn’t want to do that, no, never ever ever. Too risky, too risky.

As Dean starts driving through the street, he waves at Mr. Bergeson, who is an elderly man with two children in their 30’s and a deceased wife since long ago. He smiles and waves back, and Dean starts humming, turns up the music and some old, upbeat guitar song comes on, and Dean starts laughing, loud, loud, loud, nodding his head, incredibly exaggerated, and I realize we are now on an empty highway, an empty road and Dean roars with more laughter.

I close my eyes, I breathe deeply. A dull sting in my chest emphasizes itself everytime my heart takes a beat, and I then feel the car pick up speed, I hear a siren, I open my eyes.

I panic when I sense an object moving from behind the Impala.

Dean doesn’t give the police car any notice, continues to sing along and beat his hands against the steering wheel. The police car honks, once, twice, thrice, the sirens loud and ringing. Dean finally turns down the music but doesn’t seem very upset, only huffing exasperatingly. He slowly comes to a stop, and inside I am freaking out. What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen? Will he discover the body?

The police man leaves his car, comes over to Dean's Impala and I hear him whistle at it before coming to a stop at the car door at Dean's side. He’s a big guy, the policeman, with his belt straining under the dip of his belly, shirt tight around it, creasing terribly and belly rolls hanging from behind the fabric when he bends over to see us. He taps on the window and Dean rolls it down, grinning widely at him. I’m afraid, terrified, the body the body the body he’s going to find out about the body and I’m going to die. Dean doesn’t pay me any attention, nor does the officer, and he says, enthusiastically, “heya, officer! How’re ya?”

The man furrows his thin brows over his beady eyes and tilts his thin, pale lips downwards, opens his mouth and says in a thick, southern accent, “d’ya know why I pulled ya over, kid?”

“Nope,” Dean says, pops the P. The policeman huffs, straightens his back and pulls his too-tight pants back up his wide hips, exhaling when he lets go of it and steps back. He clears his throat and pulls out a pen and ticket pad, looks at Dean like he’s dumb, stupid. My hands shake frightfully so I tuck them in between my thighs, and Dean folds his arm out and over the window, grin still on his face. “Tell me why, officer.”

“Well,” the officer begins, writing something on his pad, constantly glancing at Dean, “ya went over the speed limit, gotta gi’ya a ticket.” He pauses his scribbling, looks up at Dean again and lowers his pen, glimpses at the trunk. I almost start crying.

“Ya mind openin’ yer trunk?”

Dean reacts quickly, leaning more towards the man from inside the driver's seat, head more tilted so I can’t see the expression he’s making. “Wouldn’t mind at all,” he drawls, voice deep and suggesting. I squeeze my thighs together nervously. What’s he doing? What’s he doing?

“But wouldn’t you mind opening it for me, big daddy?”

The man drops his pen, snuffles. He shakes his head confusedly, chins moving excessively. “What? Wh-”

“My ass, dumbass! I’ll let you fuck me if you don’t give me a ticket,” Dean says, chuckling. I feel the blood from my face drain away and my eyes go wide. The officers eyes bulge, and he hurriedly pockets the ticket pad, looks at Dean, bewildered, an ugly blush high on his cheeks. My chest hurts, it hurts it hurts it really, seriously, inexcusably hurts.

The man glances at me, is about to say something that will most likely be directed towards me but Dean interrupts him before any sound can leave his mouth.

“C’mon, I know you want to, I see you staring at me,” Dean says amusingly, his arm bent to place a fist onto his cheek, “I know you want me, daddy.”

I feel like vomiting, I want to vomit so badly so terribly I want the acid in my stomach to leave. I inhale deeply, my breaths coming out quickly, but no one pays any attention to me. When the officer doesn’t say anything, Dean sighs impatiently. He leaves the car, and I say quickly, quickly without any hesitation, “b-but Dean-”

“Not now, Cassie. I’ve got a big boy waiting for me right now,” Dean says softly. He shuts the car door and slinks over to the policeman, seducingly. “Waiting to fill me with his big,” Dean snakes his hand down the front of the man's pants, his other one clamped down on the guy's shoulder, “gorgeous,” the man’s zipper is now open, his underwear is pulled down from under his unproportional penis, and I look away when Dean says, “dick.”

I vomit all over the car seat, but that doesn’t disturb them, they’ve forgotten about me. The man groans and the distasteful sound forces me to choke out more of the malodorous liquid sitting in my stomach.

I convulse, and the man groans again. Dean does too, fakely, and suddenly I hear the sound of skin slapping against skin, fast and loud, and the most deceptive moaning and whimpering is pouring out of Dean's mouth, but the policeman doesn’t seem to notice the false, forced sounds, only I seem to.

Instantaneously, it goes quiet, but I don’t look up. Some shuffling, and a thump is sounded before the car. I look up, startled, and come to the view of Dean on the hood of the car, on his back, being fucked shallowly by a man who could be twice his age. The guys shirt was taken off, the swell of his belly smacking against Dean’s pelvis, eyes distant, and the green eyed blonde under him yells, “daddy! Oh, oh _daddy_ -”

I want to vomit, I try to, but I only dry heave. They’re almost done now, the man is emptying himself into Dean, and I realize Dean didn’t climax, nor does he seem to be bothered by that fact. I start crying soundly, the putrid scent of the liquid on the floor and dashboard making my nostrils and eyes sting. The man tucks himself back in and pulls his pants up and over his hips with abnormal effort, breathing hard.

Dean pulls his pants back up, too, a white fluid crawling down the back of his thighs, but he pays no mind. He grins at the man beautifully, who slaps his ass before saying, “don’t go prancin’ all o’er the place in those tight jeans, baby, ‘specially ‘round policemen.” He winks, and I shudder in disgust. Dean just winks back and shakes his ass at him before opening the car door, sweetly waves at the man, enters the car, and says, “bye, daddy!”

The engine of the police car behind us rumbles, and the car honks once, and finally, relievingly, leaves. Although I don’t stop crying.

Dean ignores my sobbing and scrunches up his nose at the smell of my own vomit. He says, with a grin, “aw, that grossed you out, Cassie? Did it really?”

I cry harder, rub my face roughly. Dean just laughs at me and pats my shoulder. In a strong tone, but with a grin still on his face, he says, “clean it.”

I sniffle, I can't do this anymore. “H-how?”

Dean sighs tiredly and shakes his head like I'm dumb, like I'm stupid. He gestures to my shirt and starts the engine. “Use your shirt. Take it off and use it to clean.”

I pause, the tears on my face drying. I can't do this anymore, I can't do this anymore I can't do this anymore I can't do this anymore -

“ _Now_.”

I startle, terrified of the tone, and look away from Dean as I start taking off my shirt hurriedly. I've nothing under, and it's slightly cold now but I don't say anything about it, just start wiping the dashboard and floor with fingers pinching my nose. Once I'm done, the blue button up is now dark and wet with vomit, and I gag.

“Throw it out.”

I do what he says. My hands smell terrible and I start crying again. Dean drives on, turning up the volume of a Led Zeppelin song.

The songs change from Led Zeppelin to The Clash, to some other singers I don't bother and try to recognize. We’ve been driving for hours, and when Dean reaches out destination, I feel myself start to tremble.

“C’mon, Cas, it's alright!” Dean says, and leans over to press a kiss to my cheek. I flinch and when he looks away, I rub the spot he kissed hard enough until it hurt and burned. I leave the car only after he does.

We’re parked outside of Lisa Braeden's house, and I stand still in surprise, brows furrowed. Why would he take us here? Why would he take us to his ex’s house?

Dean kicks my shin when I don't move, and I hiss in pain, adjusting my foot. He enters my field of vision and grins, says, “why dontcha knock on their door, Cassie? Go on, go ahead.”

I nod, but then shiver as the cold air continues to sink into my skin. Dean rolls his eyes, like I'm dumb, like I'm stupid, and takes his jacket off, handing it to me as he walks away to open the trunk. I struggle to put it on, the jacket, it's tight and small, but I don't say anything and button it. It doesn't help much, but I walk up to Lisa's door anyways, and knock quickly.

She opens it in only a few moments, and her shocked expression disappears when a wide smile interrupts it, although it looks slightly forced. I reciprocate it and she says, cheerfully, “hi, Cas! How are you? I haven't seen you in so long.”

I say, nervously, hoping she wouldn't see the Impala, “hello, Lisa. I…” I panic, what does Dean want me to say? What does he want me to do? What do I do?

“I just thought I'd visit.”

Her smile falters, but then she hurriedly opens the door wider and gestures at for me to come in. “Come on in, Cas! I'd love to catch up with you.”

“Yes. I- of course, Lisa.” I glance over my shoulder, and when I don't see Dean, I stop Lisa's patience from running low as I swiftly walk through the entrance, and Lisa shuts it behind me.

She points at a coat stand. “Why don't you take off your jacket? It's pretty hot in here.”

I shake my head rapidly. “No, it's okay. I'm fine.”

Lisa chuckles awkwardly. “Uh, alright. If you say so.”

She leads me into the living room and I sit down onto the floral couch. She brings me a glass of water and sets it onto the table, takes her place across me and smiles. I fiddle with my thumbs and she says, “so….how are you, Castiel?”

“I'm fine, thank you for asking. How is Ben?”

Lisa perks up, curling her fingers around her glass cup tightly, long, purple nails tapping at it. “He's doing great! He's gone to the soccer tryouts yesterday, and I think he's done well. I don't doubt they'll choose him to join the team.”

“Yes, he's always been athletic,” I say, immediately, and wonder where Dean is. Where is he? Where is he?

I realize that he must be hiding the body somewhere, and a bead of sweat rolls down my forehead. Lisa's brown arches, and says, “Ben isn't the most athletic but….yes, I guess so.”

I fucked up, _I fucked up,_ what do I say, I don't know what to say. What do I say, what do I say when Dean is out there digging up a grave? What do I say?

“Cas, are you alright?”

I almost jump. “Uh, yes, sorry. I'll, um…” I stand up and shake my cup, asking, “can I go and refill my glass?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure! Go ahead.” Lisa smiles again, but I look away, my stomach churning at the now intolerably fake smile, red lips stretched widely in an incredibly delusive grin. I walk away and into the kitchen, which was easy to find.

I shuffle over to the sink, turning on the tap and holding my glass under the thick rush of water. I sigh, the leather jacket rubbing into my skin uncomfortably, and I turn off the tap when my cup is full. I almost drop it when the window before the sink cracks.

Dean holds up another rock, but then lets it fall into the grass when he sees me look up. He jumps and grins, laughs, waves at me, and my heart skips a beat when I see him stand before a deep hole in the ground and a shovel sunk into the grass right next to it.

Oh, no, no, no, no, nonononono. What the fuck? What the fuck? In Lisa’s backyard? Oh, no, oh, no, no -

“Castiel, are you alright?”

The glass shatters, and Lisa yelps. Droplets of water smack against Dean’s jacket, and I back away from the mess instinctively. Lisa holds a hand to her chest, and I remember Dean, the hole, the shovel, _oh no_ , and hastily cover the window with my tall frame, standing in front of it in hopes of hiding Dean’s figure. Lisa frowns.

“Are you alright, Castiel? You seem very jumpy.”

“I'm, I'm fine! Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to break the glass!”

Lisa looks annoyed, but then she forces another one of those stomach churning, fake, fake, fake smiles to make an appearance and says, “it's okay, Cas. You're probably just tired. Go lay down on the couch, will you?”

My hands are trembling. I shake my head, “no, let me help.”

“But your hands are trembling, Cas.” She looked annoyed, still. Why am I annoying her? Stuck up bitch, I'm trying my hardest to keep it together. I really am, I really, really am trying.

“No, it's okay. I promise, please let me help.” I'm hoping she doesn't see Dean doing whatever he shouldn't be doing, I'm hoping she doesn't see him at all, nothing at all. She tilts her head confusedly but then sighs, says, “okay,” and hands me a towel. I wait until she starts so she doesn’t see past the window.

I'm cleaning the mess, so is Lisa, and it's gone after a few minutes. I quickly get up and take my place at the window again unsuspiciously, casually. Lisa doesn't say anything, nor does she give any notice to my nervousness, and plops the towels onto the counter. She looks at me expectantly and I follow her into the living room. We sit down.

She stares at me and then bites her bottom lip, as if anxious. She says, in a soft tone, “really, Cas, are you alright? I know that, between me and Dean, it's pretty rough, but I'm not going to hate you just because you're his boyfriend.”

My hands start trembling again. The back of my neck is wet with sweat and it's suddenly unexplainably hot, and I say, hurriedly, “yes, I know, I'm fine, I'm sorry if I'm coming off as weird, or anything. I'm just very tired.” In hopes of her not hearing me, I also say, in a whisper, very quietly, words barely even leaving my lips, “of everything.”

But Lisa does hear, she does, and I know because her eyes go wide and her nails clack together in pity for me (but I don't want her pity, I really don't, I don't I don't), and she frowns, her brows bent downwards worriedly. “Oh, Cas, what's wrong? What's wrong? What happened?”

I open my mouth, I close it, I sniffle, I want to cry. I want to cry, I want to cry so bad, so terribly, I want to cry but I can't because Lisa is here and I do not want to bring my troubles to her, as she is nothing to me. And I will leave anyway, in a few minutes, or seconds or hours, whenever Dean is done. I'll just have to wait, wait for him to finish and give me a signal to leave.

But what if he doesn't? What if he abandons me here, I wouldn't be surprised, but if he did I'd cry again and push Lisa away because she'd try to comfort me, but if she'd known he was once here, had dug a hole in her backyard and stuck a body into it, she’d scream and yell and cry, too, and suddenly I feel sympathetic for her, even though she is fine right now. Even though she is okay, unlike so many of the people she knows. Like me and Dean and -

“Castiel, are you alrigh-”

I stand up abruptly, I can't sit here any longer, with Lisa’s blabbering and fake smiles and the worry of Dean leaving me behind. “Thank you, Lisa, for your worry and all, but I have to go. I had a pleasant evening, talking to you.” I didn't, not really, no, not at all, but I don't say that because why should I? Both of us know that this evening was absolutely terrible, I'm so sure both of us do.

Lisa looks surprised, but then she stands up and nods. “Okay, Cas, let me just walk you to the door.”

I panic. Oh, no, she’ll see Dean's Impala and start screaming and crying and I don't want to hear it, I don't want to be near her anymore. I just want to go home. My chest hurts and my hands are trembling to the point where it's rather terrifying. “No, it's, don't worry, I'll just-”

“Insist, Castiel, let me walk you to it. Say goodbye, and all.” She smiles, again, and I want to puke, maybe even punch my stomach just so I can, but I don't, and pray to God that she will not see the Impala, that she will not see Dean.

She opens it and I walk outside, turn around and say goodbye. She does too, and, thankfully, luckily, she doesn't see the Impala. She shuts the door and I sigh, lean my head against the rough, wooden surface, I'm tired I'm tired I'm so tired.

I wonder where Dean is, and, speak of the devil, I hear him say, shout, “Cassie, my boy!”

I jump, turn around. Dean is walking over to me with his arms spread wide, disturbingly happy and joyful, laughing gleefully, “you did such a great, good job! A good job, Cas, you hreally did it!”

I place a hand onto his shoulder without any tenderness, I don't care if he gets mad anymore (but maybe I do, maybe I'm just lying to myself), and shove a finger up to my face just to press it against my lips, a _shhhhhh shhhhhh shhhhhh_ sound leaving them, and Dean’s grin never falters, he ignores me, my worries.

“Don't worry, don't worry, she won't hear me.”

“You're loud, she will.”

“But don't you like that?” Dean asks, his grin impossibly wider. “Don't you like it when I'm loud?”

My face warms and I grit my teeth. What the fuck? What the fuck? He laughs at me, and I turn to run to the car, I don't want to be here anymore. Lisa will see us any minute now and call the fucking cops and we’ll get arrested as some mad, crazy, psychos who'd trespassed into her property. I open the door and pull myself in, slamming it closed. Dean looks back at me curiously, eyes dark, and he suddenly starts running over to the car, too, as if trying to imitate me, and shoves himself inside with a loud slam of the door. He buckles himself in and says, “did you guys have sex?” A grin on his face, I shudder and shake my head. Gross, no, no, no, disgusting, I want to puke, I want to vomit.

He pouts. “Aw, what a shame. Who doesn't want to see their ex get fucked by their boyfriend, hm, Cassie?” He tilts his head at me, and I nod slowly, just so I don't upset him, I didn't feel very daring at the moment. I'm so tired.

“I know you're lying, Cassie,” he says, lowly, and my heart skips a beat at the tone, it's terrifying and I whip my head to the side, skittish. Dean laughs, as if my fear was simply amusing to him. “You're so cute, when you're scared, you really are!”

I wince, stare at my shivering hands. The leather jacket sticks to my skin, sweaty and slippery, and I contemplate over taking it off or not. Dean, unfortunately, continues with his manic words, and I close my eyes, an ache behind my left eye forming.

“You get all panicky and oblivious as to what you should do, it's so funny! Watching you try to get a hold on things, it's hilarious,” Dean says, and my self-worth starts burying itself into my chest. I don't want it to come back, now’s not the time, no, no, no, I shake my head, ( _no, no, no_ ).

But Dean doesn't get the hint, doesn't give any notice to it. “It's a joke, really, when you're scared. When you're terrified.” He grins, laughs, pats me on the back. “It's a joke!”

I start crying, but I don't really realize I am. Dean squeals when he sees the tears and pushes his lips onto my cheek, it hurts, it really does, and only when his lips leave does it start burning like a new, finished tattoo, like he's branded something into my cheek. He turns on the engine, and I hear a glass shattering scream.

I realize the scream is coming from the house, and Lisa’s the one letting it out. Oh _no, nononono_. I try to open the door, but it's locked. “What? What was that? Dean? Dea-”

“Shhh, shhh, she’ll hear you,” he says, grins at me. “Don't say a word or I'll fucking shut you up myself.”

My hearts racing, but I nod anyways, and I shove my trembling, shivering, shaking hands in between my thighs, in hopes to stop them from moving constantly. I don't say a word, too afraid, Dean’s threat burning itself into my head and taking over most of my thoughts. Fuck, no no, I'm so scared and I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, to calm myself, maybe, I don't know, to do something, to do something.

Dean drives out, heightens the volume of some song, and starts laughing, beating his hands against the steering wheel, but it doesn't silence the screams. I can still hear them. I can still hear them. Lisa must be so afraid, so scared, feeling so betrayed. _I'm sorry,_ I think, _I'm sorry I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry please forgive me._

Dean tilts his head and grins at me, and I suddenly feel like I can't really handle it, like I was drowning, something was suffocating me. Maybe it was of the fact that despite this, despite what he just did, I can’t help myself but realize that he still looks beautiful like this. Driving in his Baby with a wide, pretty boy smile on his face. He's so beautiful, so gorgeous.

He's still so gorgeous, still so beautiful, despite what he just did.

He's so beautifully fucked up.

 

 

 

 


End file.
